


I'll Be There When Your Reality Drowns

by Necro (Charlie_M)



Series: Phoenix Rising [9]
Category: Mortal Kombat (Video Games), Mortal Kombat - All Media Types
Genre: Aftermath Shang Tsung Ending compliant, Codependency, Collars, Dom/sub Undertones, Eldritch Powers, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Intimacy, Minor Character Death, Sharing a Bath, Sharing a Bed, Sort of anyway, honestly kinda vanilla tbh, implied suicidal thoughts (but she ends up fine), it's a softer fic than the summary or title implies, safe mostly sane and consensual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:35:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24722407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Charlie_M/pseuds/Necro
Summary: “I can take you from this world you hate so much,” he continued, “offer you direction. And if you see fit to burn down your new world, all the better. I’m not terribly fond of it.”---In which Shang Tsung gambles on everything in existence with a woman who wants little to do with it. Somehow, everything turns out far more pleasant then either of them expect.
Relationships: Shang Tsung/Original Character(s)
Series: Phoenix Rising [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1249661
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	I'll Be There When Your Reality Drowns

**Author's Note:**

> Hello this is the most writing I've gotten done in weeks. Someone asked awhile ago if I'd ever write about how she met Shang Tsung for their pairing.
> 
> Nix is a little op simply for my own amusement and because I wanted to pay more attention to their relationship. This genuinely is more soft and fun than the tags or description implies.
> 
> (Title comes from Siren by Kailee Morgue)

Shang Tsung was a proud man. He had every reason to be possessing intelligence, ambition, a strong will, charisma, wealth, power…

He was a proud man, but he wasn’t delusional, despite what some incompetent meddling Earthrealm thunder gods might tout. What Shang Tsung had cultivated over the centuries was well-deserved, but it still wasn’t enough. He craved true power, the highest throne from which to lord over the realms, to make celestial spheres dance at his whim.

Only then could he be satisfied. Only then would he have everything he was owed.

Proud, but not foolish.

Between Shao Khan’s not-inconsiderable power, and Quan Chi’s own machinations to resurrect Shinnok, Shang Tsung was in no favorable position to attain his goals. Scheming and arranging pawns had served him well, but even he knew he couldn’t overthrow a dynasty and an Elder God as he was. Especially not with Titan forces like Kronika poised in the wings.

He needed something more. Something beyond the confines of the world as he knew it, beyond the realms and Kronika’s reach.

It was no small order, but Shang Tsung was the most powerful sorcerer in existence. He had faith in his own ability where he had none in any deity he knew of.

He grasped for something beyond all of creation, and found it.

***

There was blood in her mouth. She couldn’t taste its coppery tang anymore, but she knew it was there.

There was smoke in her lungs. Heat and debris had burned and shredded delicate tissue into deadened nerves, but at least she couldn’t smell it anymore.

Her limbs (she assumed she still had all of them— they’d been there last time she bothered to check) were numb. She missed the pain. It had made everything so sharp, so clear.

The city was probably still falling apart. People screaming. Fires roaring. Metal screeching and concrete crumbling. Sirens blaring. All that sturdy industry had disintegrated like tissue paper in the wake of their battle. She remembered that the sounds had been catastrophic.

It only made sense that with their own world ending, everyone else’s should too.

She stared down at him. At his limp body, littered with cuts and scratches and burns and barely-formed bruises. At his face, relaxed and peaceful where it had been twisted in pain and fury just seconds (seconds? minutes? hours?) ago. At his green eyes, all of their unnatural light snuffed out as he gazed sightless at the clogged sky. Stared until tears obscured her vision and smeared her sight into bleak, formless colors. 

He was dead. She’d killed him. She’d wanted to kill him. She’d  _ promised _ she was going to kill him— only because he’d done it first, she was never one for half-measures— and she’d made good on her word.

For a few, righteous moments, she’d hated him more than anything. She still did.

But he was— he  _ had been _ — her brother. Her twin. A distorted reflection of herself .

He had dealt the first blow. Had ripped open their minds and their souls for something unholy to take root and spread. Had become so drunk on his newfound abilities that he’d tried to subsume hers to ascend to something beyond godhood.

And she hated him for betraying her like that. Loathed that his ambition and lust for power had driven them to this conclusion.

And that was what it was: a conclusion. An end. The end. Of him, of her, of everything.

She couldn’t bring him back from the dead. She’d tried. The moment the light had left his eyes, she’d reached to bring him back— damn the consequences, damn the pain, damn  _ him _ . But for all that power he’d so coveted, even their combined abilities couldn’t resurrect the dead.

She followed his deadened gaze upwards, her head tilting back, slack.

_ What was the point? What was the point of any of it? _

She didn’t want the power, had never wanted it. She hadn’t killed him out of righteous morality; the only thing she’d been trying to protect was her own life. She’d kill him for survival, because she’d known with terrible certainty that he wouldn’t have stopped unless she  _ made _ him.

She didn’t want it. Any of it. His blood on her hands, his power thrumming through her body, the weight of emotion that was slowly, steadily, starting to drown her. It was an agony that made her yearn for the physical pain she’d lost somewhere between that last blow and now, as she bowed over Nathan's corpse.

A sound crawled up her throat and left in a ragged scream. And then the sound didn’t stop.

She didn’t want it. Any of it. She didn’t want to feel this twist of helpless grief and rage. Didn’t want her brother’s body splayed out before her, his head a heavy weight in her lap.

She didn’t want it. Any of it. She didn’t want to feel anything anymore. Didn’t want the world to keep spinning. Didn’t want to live with what she’d done, what she’d become.

_ She didn’t want it. _

_ Any of it. _

***

Whatever world Shang Tsung had just stepped into, it seemed to be ending.

A grey sky was cracking open over his head. Some sprawling metropolis lay in desolation around him, surpassing anything Shao Khan had managed in his paltry konquests. The ground trembled and groaned beneath his feet, undoubtedly moments from splitting apart. He could sense thousands dead and thousands more dying.

It was an apocalypse— and its cause was right in front of him.

She looked human enough, at first glance. But she was staring up at the fracturing sky with an eerily blank expression, even as tears streaked down a face caked in blood and ash. Her mouth was slightly parted, though no sound escaped.

It was her eyes that spoke. A cocktail of staggering emotion churned within eyes like twin violet suns. Horror and despair and wrath, the sweet, violent edge of burgeoning insanity. It took her a long moment to realize Shang Tsung was even there, and when she did, he thought for a split second that she’d kill him on sight.

He wouldn’t have been able to stop her; probably wouldn’t have had the time to even retreat.

“Tell me you did this to us,” she rasped, venom spilling into the empty spaces in her voice. “Tell me that you’re some sort of god and made all this happen.”

She was cradling the body of a man who bore striking resemblance to her. Different hair and eyes, but their facial structure was similar enough. Her brother was newly dead, it seemed.

“I’m not responsible for this,” he answered.  _ Fortunately _ , he did not add.

There was a vicious energy congregating around her, an unseen electricity that made his skin prickle. Her lip curled; he’d given the wrong answer. He wasn’t sure there was a right one, but he kept talking.

“I believe  _ you  _ might be, actually.”

From the way her expression contorted, he’d touched on a fresh nerve. He was standing before a literal disaster, if there was ever a time to utilize his silver tongue, it was then.

“All this destruction… it seems like you plan to be responsible for more.”

She glanced at the entropy around them, something like vindication flashing across her features.

“There’s no plan. There’s no anything,” she answered, voice rising with unhinged fervor “I want it all gone.  _ I’ll tear everything apart with my bare hands if I have to _ .”

He believed her. Raw power radiated off her like a tangible force, swimming with malice. Any reasonable mortal would have felt all her sublime glory and ran. But Shang Tsung was no mere mortal.

“With no direction, you’re little better than a wild animal,” he said. Calm, collected. “And wild animals tend to be put down.”

She craned her head back to stare at him, like she could swallow him whole in her gaze.

“Who’s going to do that? You?” she challenged, mouth curling. “Kill me if you can. I’d rather the world burn than live like  _ this _ .”

He chuckled. Magnificent. She was truly cataclysmic.

“No, I’m not here to stop you,” he assured, sidling a step closer, “but I can offer you something better.”

She narrowed her eyes. Waiting.

“All of this is pointless, as impressive as it is.” He waved a hand at the deteriorating landscape. “Power like this is wasted without purpose. I can give you a purpose.”

Her expression didn’t change, but her eyes flickered. It seemed he’d finally caught her interest.

“I can take you from this world you hate so much,” he continued, “offer you direction. And if you see fit to burn down your new world, all the better. I’m not terribly fond of it.”

Her head lolled around to contemplate the sky, then down to stare into the young man’s lifeless features.

“Power without purpose is meaningless,” she whispered, “and I can’t let all of this be for nothing.”

***

It took three days for the shaking to stop.

Three days of adjusting to another dimension. Three days of all her crude destructive energy simultaneously breaking its vessel apart and keeping it together in a world not its own. There were exhilarating moments where Shang Tsung thought he’d perhaps doomed not only his island and Outworld, but the rest of the realms as well.

The very air around her crackled with spontaneous decay, a bubble of empty space carved out of the universe. Her face had been twisted in something beyond agony the few times he’d glimpsed it. The irises and whites of her eyes had been subsumed by crackling purple light, perpetual rivers of tears streaming down her clenched jaw.

Then finally, on the third day, she collapsed on her side and was still. Shang Tsung thought, for a moment, that she’d burned herself out and died. But when he edged closer, her eyes focused on him. The divine glow had faded, leaving behind violet irises contained by a ring of black, surrounded by white (if bloodshot) sclera.

“Are you hungry?” he began. “Thirsty?”

She had not eaten or drank for the duration of the three days, though it hardly seemed to show. She was dirty and bloody, yes, but he suspected that it was only superficial.

“Tired,” she answered.

“Could I persuade you to bathe before resting?”

She didn’t respond, but there was compliance in the set of her shoulders as she pushed herself off the cold stone floor.

“Can you stand?” he asked.

She did so without a word, levelling him with a look just shy of expectant. Pleasantly surprised, he half-turned towards the way he’d come, gauging her reaction (or lack thereof) from the corner of his eye.

“Follow me, then.”

She fell into step behind him. They navigated from the deepest underground pits of his island, up to the palace aboveground. She was silent for the duration of the journey, and glances from his periphery revealed no interest in her unfamiliar surroundings. Even at the doors to his quarters, there was no hesitation to follow him inside, all the way to his lavish bathroom.

His bath was a deep pool in the floor, carved from smooth black stone, heated and maintained by magic. Flower petals and soothing herbs floated on the water’s mirror-like surface, curling wisps of steam dissipating in the air just above it.

“By all means,” he invited, gesturing to the bath.

Ruined clothing puddled at her bare feet on the pristine tiles. Lines of unfamiliar script wound around her thighs and calves, slanted across the dips and planes of her back and shoulders, hugged the arches of her ribs. She rubbed a thumb over the lettering on one thigh, her exhaustion-induced calm faltering for a dangerous moment.

“What does it say?” he asked, tilting his head in a vain attempt to read the scrawl at the nape of her neck.

“Everything that happened,” she whispered. “What I did. What he did.”

He allowed that to sink into the warm air between them. His hand twitched to distract her with touch, then thought better of it.

“Well, I doubt it can be washed off, but let’s see about the rest, shall we?”

She blinked, eyes darting up to his for the span of two heartbeats. Then she padded to the edge of the water and slid into the depths.

Shang Tsung paused to admire the view— the personification of desolation soaking in his bath, her eyelids heavy and tension draining from her shoulders— then began to strip. The bath had originally been drawn for himself, after all, and he planned to enjoy it.

There was certainly enough room for them both (and several more if they were so inclined) despite the magnetism that enticed him closer. Was it a natural byproduct of her abilities, whatever they were, or Shang Tsung’s own attraction to power?

She acknowledged his presence with a brief flicker of her eyes before settling into the shallow end of the pool, reclined against the wall. Shang Tsung situated himself against the opposite side and a few feet away. Silence blanketed the air, Shang Tsung watching her while she watched the petals that had been disturbed by their entrance.

“Careful that you don’t drown,” he warned when she began to sink lower.

She ducked her head beneath the water and resurfaced a beat too long later, wiping grime from her eyes. He wordlessly handed her a cloth, careful that their fingers didn’t brush. Each swipe across her face revealed soft, smooth features, disarmingly delicate for someone who had almost ended a world. There was a cut across the bridge of her nose that was already well on its way to healing.

“I’m afraid I neglected to ask your name when we first met,” he said.

She didn’t look up. “Phoenix.”

“Phoenix,” he repeated, trying the name on his tongue.

She paused, frowned, seemed to work something out in her own mind. “Nix,” she amended.

“Nix.”

She inclined her head, seemed satisfied with that, and returned to washing herself. Shang Tsung was content to observe, her lack of modesty or shame, her indifference to anything but the mechanical movements of cleaning herself, all of it fascinating. When she found the strange text on her ribs, she scrubbed at it until the skin began to turn raw and angry. He started to reach for her again, but the water around her was rippling and Shang Tsung knew better.

“I believe that’s a lost cause,” he offered.

She froze, chest rising and falling rapidly, but her eyes weren’t glowing for as wild as they were.

“I’m a lost cause,” she murmured.

“That’s a hasty judgement,” he answered lightly, “and certainly not one you’re in any state to make. I don’t waste my time on useless pursuits.”

Her hand lowered slowly, the skin she’d been scrubbing at left slightly bloody, but the text remained crisp.

“I could kill you,” she said, though it wasn’t meant as a threat. “I could do worse to you and everything else. Why are you risking it?”

He arched his eyebrows, the corner of his mouth curling up in delight. It was indeed too soon to come to any conclusions about her, but the glimpses of Nix he saw were already so promising.

“In this dimension, gods have markings similar to those,” he said instead of answering.

“I’m not a god.”

Anything with powers like hers was something better than a god. He kept that to himself.

“Neither am I,” he replied. “That is why I have you.”

She opened her mouth, perhaps to argue or question further, then closed it and nodded. With that, Shang Tsung decided she was clean enough and stood. Her tangled hair could wait.

“Come, you need to rest.”

She blinked, then dropped the wet cloth and followed him from the pool.

***

He ordered one of the servants to attend to Nix’s hair the next day. He left the room for all of five minutes to order some food and drink. When he returned, there was blood splattered across the walls and floor, the servant was cowering in the corner, and Nix’s hair had been hacked in a severe asymmetrical line.

Shang Tsung wasn’t sure where the blood had come from, given that no one was injured or dead, but he had other (aesthetic) concerns. Nix was holding a pair of scissors in one hand, staring at them almost contemplatively.

“Oh my.”

She glanced up at him, her smooth expression only flickering with vague surprise when he crossed the room to stand within arm’s reach of her.

“Is this… your doing?” he asked, gesturing (and trying not to wince) at her hair.

She ran the fingers of her free hand through it, the strands loose and untangled now, to her credit. “Yes.”

“Ah, I see,” he said weakly. He extracted the scissors from her grasp— still careful not to touch her. “A couple weeks and maybe we’ll try again, hm?”

He dismissed the servant without a glance. Nix sighed softly in the silence that followed, dropping her head to stare at her hands.

“What’s the point of this?” she asked. He was pleased to hear a note of exasperation in her voice, even if her (butchered) haircut had been the one and only thing he’d asked of her since they’d woken no more than thirty minutes ago.

“I can’t have you looking like you came from a warzone— even if you did,” he answered pleasantly. “Now, for the state of the room?”

The inexplicable blood disappeared in an instant. He hummed in approval, giving her another once over.

There had been several moments, when she’d first opened her eyes that morning, that he’d truly believed she would split the fabric of reality right down the middle. Not even on purpose, perhaps. But she’d woken in such despair, in such wrath, that he wasn’t sure she’d tolerate existence as it was.

“I can’t say I’m thrilled to be up either, but it  _ is _ rather late,” he’d said and the world had gone still again.

She’d also proceeded to sob, loudly and uncontrollably, and turned the entire room frigid like she’d spontaneously developed cryomancy. Shang Tsung had waited beneath the covers on the other side of the mattress until her crying had calmed to sniffles.

“You’ve left your old world behind,” he’d reminded her, soothing and steady, “you have new purpose here now.”

She’d nodded, wiped at her eyes, and climbed into the shirt he’d loaned her.

Still, rough awakening aside, she seemed significantly more stable than she had the previous night. She was still quiet, still pensive, but there was more coherency in her gaze than the day before. There was even the suggestion of emotion beyond grief when she spoke.

Also as he’d suspected, she’d been physically unaffected by her recent hardships. There were no injuries— save the one on her nose, already turning into a fetching pink scar— and she wasn’t dehydrated or malnourished, despite three days with no sustenance. Could she even partake in earthly necessities like eating and drinking, or did she solely subsist on something more ethereal?

A knock at the door interrupted Shang Tsung from his musings. A handful of servants stepped into the chamber, setting dishes and drinks down on the table in the corner. Nix watched them with flickering eyes, stationary until they’d left and he closed the doors behind them. She approached the table with something like curiosity, cocking her head at the unfamiliar array of dishes.

“An Earthrealm breakfast,” he explained.

“Earthrealm,” she repeated musingly. “Hm.”

Over breakfast, he explained the realms to her, some of their history and their current political states. The only indication she gave of listening was her steady gaze while she picked at her food. Shang Tsung didn’t mind the one-sided conversation, rather enjoying the sound of his own voice coupled with her unwavering attention.

When they’d finished eating, she accompanied him to his office just off from the main chamber. She paused at his side just past the threshold, glanced at him sideways. An unspoken question. He smiled and gestured to the space.

“Feel free to explore,” he offered, “I have some work to attend to.”

She wandered deeper inside, eyeing the shelves of books and artifacts he’d collected. Shang Tsung monitored her for a moment, decided she wasn’t in any danger of an episode, and sat at his desk. He’d been neglecting his duties to Shao Khan in the process of keeping Nix from shredding apart reality. The paperwork was hardly anything taxing, but it needed doing nevertheless.

“As much as I enjoy sharing my shirts with you,” he drawled after some time, “I’m afraid you’ll need your own clothing.”

She hummed, turning a cursed dagger over in her hands. He waited until she set it down before continuing.

“Of course, that will require measuring and fitting…”

He was expecting a reaction and he got one— someone screamed from outside the main chamber. Nix turned in surprise, hands twitching at her sides. When her eyes slid to his, he arched an eyebrow and stood to investigate. She trailed behind him to the doors, stood back as he pulled them open.

A pair of servants were usually stationed outside his door, available to fetch him things and carry messages as needed. One was plastered against the wall opposite, hyperventilating and staring at a pile of viscera that must have once been his counterpart.

Shang Tsung closed the doors without a word and turned back to Nix. Her hands were shaking, the air around her shifting in a way that was almost painful to look at.

“Well then,” he said, strolling back to the office. The churning air settled again as she followed once again. “I suppose that can wait as well.”

She stood by the edge of his desk, nails digging into the wood. He returned to his documents, unconcerned.

“Is it difficult,” he asked, “to stop yourself from slaughtering everything?”

“Yes.”

“Because you want to, or because of your powers?”

Her brow furrowed. “I… both?”

“They’re still settling, then,” he mused, “and I’m certain your heightened emotional state is only exacerbating the issue.”

“Certainly.” The word came from between gritted teeth, but it made him chuckle.

“I’m afraid it isn’t convenient for you to kill people whenever the prospect of touching you is brought up,” he continued. “Rest assured that no one will do so without your permission.”

Frowning, she nodded, and her shoulders lowered. That settled, he extended a piece of paper to her.

“Let’s practice now, shall we? Hand this to the servant outside, and try not to eviscerate him.”

***

The first week was spent letting Nix’s powers subside into her body and ensuring that she didn’t tear any holes in the cosmos in the meantime.

Shang Tsung was the only one who could interrupt the build-up of an episode, and since episodes could happen at any moment, he couldn’t leave her alone. Not that he particularly wanted to— nor did she seem inclined to stray far from his side. She was manageable during the day, and each one was easier than the last.

At night, however, she was far more dangerous. It was difficult to keep her grounded in her current reality when nightmares crept in. Unable to touch her, he spent several hours talking her back into consciousness, wondering if it would work before she did too much damage. He was always a little surprised when he woke the next morning intact— even if his (their) room wasn’t.

The second week he eased her into his routines. They rose together each morning, shared breakfast, and then relocated to his office to get started on work. Shang Tsung was meticulous to have them break for lunch and tea at the exact same time every afternoon, no matter what they were doing, and felt gratified the first day she set her book aside without prompting.

At night, they took dinner in his chambers, then retired to bathe. There, Shang Tsung would ask about her day, as if he hadn’t spent all of it with her. In increasingly longer increments, he coaxed out her thoughts and feelings about the books she read, or flowers in the garden, or the new foods they’d eaten.

He relished the sound of her voice in those moments, rippling off the tiles and mingling with the steam in the air. The more she used it, the smoother and softer it became, like velvet filling the ever-dwindling space between them. Shang Tsung soaked in everything she shared, piecing together information from what she told him and how she told him.

Nix adored sweets and couldn’t stand most meat. She liked poems, but only short ones, and was something of a romantic despite her distaste for most romantic novels. She preferred to be in the sunlight whenever possible, but would have kept night-owl hours if he let her. Given the choice, she preferred rich, dark coffees over tea, and black tea over green… 

He’d wait until her voice would taper off and she’d rub at her eyes before urging her to bed.

The structure quelled the part of her that craved chaos and disorder. His repeated and timely reminders to eat and drink kept her grounded in her body. Answering his questions and talking kept her thoughts in order, helped her process her grief, and slowly revealed bits of her personality.

Most importantly, the routine gave her something to rely on when he began acclimating her to a varying work schedule.

She wasn’t thrilled to leave the familiarity of his chambers, but she didn’t protest accompanying him around the island either. At first, he had them leave frequently for small, quick tasks. Then he eased her into fewer but longer excursions, until he could bring her down to his laboratory for at least half a day of work.

Nix liked to doze over the tables and benches, arms pillowing her head, while he worked around her. It felt a bit like having a lazy housecat, the way she’d blink at him slowly while he spoke at length without ever expecting a response. She tolerated his dangerous proximity when he reached over her head or past her shoulders, stretched out languid if he woke her from her naps.

She even seemed mildly entertained by their system, if the way she eyed him with a not-smile curving her lips was any indication.

“Grind these into powder,” he told her one day, setting a pestle, mortar, and handful of bones in front of her.

She set to her task without a word, snapping the bones into smaller pieces with her bare hands to fit them into the bowl easier. Several moments passed in companionable silence, the rumble of scraping stone the only sound between them, before she tilted the mortar for his inspection.

“Yes, like that. Well done,” he praised. “Dump it on this parchment when you need to.”

She tipped the contents out, careful not to let the bone dust spill onto the countertop.

“It smells bad,” she said finally.

He arched his eyebrows, mouth tilting into an indulgent smile. It was still rare for her to speak without prompting, though she’d stopped responding in mostly hums.

“An unfortunate side effect of his cause of death, I’m afraid,” he replied. “Here, perhaps this will help.”

He opened a vial of shimmery silver liquid and offered it for consideration. She gave it a delicate sniff, and promptly turned her face away to sneeze.

“No?” he chuckled as the bridge of her nose turned pink. “How about this?”

This one was a rosey color that matched the shade of her flush, and was met more favorably. He set the open container near her, out of the way.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

He hummed pleasantly in response and turned back to his dissection.

***

Three days later, he felt the air next to him shift, pale lilac in the corner of his vision. He turned his head only, aware of the little space left between them. Nix stood by his elbow, peering at the spellbook he was working from.

Shang Tsung had grown adept at reading the small changes in her expression. Her brows were relaxed, the plush lines of her mouth soft and quirked just so at the corners. There was no tension in her jaw or around her eyes, big and curious as they flicked up to his. She was in an extraordinarily good mood, it seemed.

“Has something caught your interest?” he asked, arching an eyebrow in amusement.

“Maybe,” she answered, tilting her head.

“Then, by all means.” He stepped back to create a place for her. She filled it without hesitation, only a sliver of air separating them. That close, he could smell how his soaps perfumed her skin.

“What is it?” she inquired.

“The first proper task you’ll perform for me,” he explained. “Would you like to know more?”

She nodded, angling herself to look between him and the book.

***

He woke to quiet crying and an unexpectedly still room. Had he somehow missed one of her nightmares?

That felt like an impossibility, but stranger things had happened. He sat up enough to scan the darkened bedroom. Shockingly, everything was still in one piece.

“Nix?” he asked.

She could feel her shaking even across the ample space between their bodies. A quiet noise left her, bracketed by all too familiar sniffling.

He shifted to leave the bed, well-used to the procedure of turning on the lights and ordering water from the servants. Before he could get far, there was an earnest grip on his forearm. Shock froze him, eyes darting down to the small hand urging him to stay.

“Please don’t— don’t go,” she whispered. “Shang Tsung…”

He eased himself back onto the mattress, still sitting, but assuring her that he wouldn’t leave. The light beside his bed came alive, bathing that corner of the room in hazy golden light. Her fingers twitched, but rather than release him, she scooted closer.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, voice low and calm. “Was it a nightmare?”

“You… you left. You were gone,” she murmured, unable to meet his eyes, “and I was…”

_ Alone _ . Just like when he’d met her.

“You won’t be alone again,” he promised. “Not now that you’re mine.”

She drew in a shuddering breath. A silvery tear caught the light as it slid down her cheek. He gently removed her hand so that he could open his arms. Barely halfway through the motion, she crawled into his lap. Her chest pressed so tight to his that he could feel her heart thumping between them. She buried her face in the crook of his neck, tears soaking his skin and shirt.

“Easy now, kitten,” he soothed, curling his arms around her waist. “You belong here with me. I won’t go anywhere.”

He rubbed slow circles over her back, over the mysterious lines of text he’d memorized despite being unable to read them. The tears stopped, her breathing eased and then evened out. Shang Tsung lowered himself onto his back and snuffed the light with a flick of his fingers. They slept like that until morning.

***

It was much longer than a couple weeks before they tried to fix her hair again, but the patience yielded much better success. Nix sat stiffly in a chair and cast Shang Tsung doubtful, displeased looks with each pass of the servant’s fingers through the carefully detangled strands. He sent her half-amused, half-reassuring glances in return, lounging on a nearby couch.

When it was finished (in record time, as she got twitchier with each passing minute) she sat between his legs so that he could inspect the finished product. Her hair was silky beneath his fingers, finally one uniform length to grow at her leisure. Perhaps more critically, the room and everyone in it remained undamaged. Her eyes went half-lidded when his nails gently scraped her scalp, and she settled in for a nap against his chest while he sent the relieved servant away with compliments.

Measuring her for clothing was a slightly more precarious affair. Nix stood stock still and rigid while the tailor— an outsider of the island, entirely unfamiliar with her— fussed at her with too much contact. The only reason he didn’t lose a hand when he yanked at her arm was because Shang Tsung slid between them, intertwining their fingers and tugging her against his chest.

“A little more patience,” he crooned, “and then you won’t have to bother with anyone else today. Can you behave a little while longer?”

Despite his easy tone, he scanned her expression carefully. Her tense jaw, narrowed eyes, and pursed lips indicated that she was reaching the limits of her patience, but hadn’t reached the edge just yet. When he stroked his thumb over the corner of her wrist, some of the hostility diffused from her body.

She huffed softly. “‘Behave’,” she scoffed, frowning at him through her lashes. The show of attitude was delightful. “Fine.”

He smiled and stepped back, hovering close by in case the tailor offended her further. Everyone survived the experience (barely) and Shang Tsung sequestered them in his office with cakes and coffee for the rest of the day.

Her new wardrobe arrived soon after, and while he mourned the days of her wearing his shirts and vests, the sight of her slitted skirts and panelled corsets was a pleasing replacement.

***

“I have something for you.”

Nix, leaning against his side with her leg thrown across his lap, glanced up from the book they were sharing.

“Something for me?” she parroted, surprised and curious.

An elegant black box, wrapped in a purple ribbon, materialized in his palm. He handed it off to her while biting back a smile, watched her brace it against her leg as she slid the top off. Nestled amongst parallel velvet cushions was a series of thick gold bands, some smooth, others engraved, and others still inlaid with polished gems.

“Thighs, calves, arms,” he explained, pointing to each pair in turn. “To cover that writing you hate so much.”

She let out a soft noise, mouth parting on shock and awe as her eyes caught his, wide and shining. He plucked one of the circlets from its bed and clipped it expertly around the thigh sprawled across his own, obscuring the three lines of script etched into her skin.

“There we are,” he murmured, hand lingering, “how’s that?”

Nix's eyes were the widest he’d ever seen them, her expression blank with shock. As well as he’d learned to read her, Shang Tsung couldn’t determine what she was thinking, beyond pleasure with his gift. His patience, however, paid off when she leaned close to press her lips to his cheek. Then his jaw. And then, so chaste and sweet he could taste it, his mouth.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

She didn’t resist the tug of his palms on her hips, guiding her to straddle his lap. Her arms draped around his shoulders, comfortable and relaxed, as her fingers curled into his hair. The box of jewelry appeared on a nearby table, out of their way.

“You ask for nothing,” he purred, tilting her face so that he could trail kisses from her forehead, down her nose, and stopping again when he reached her lips. “It makes it difficult to shower you with everything you deserve.”

She made a quiet, questioning noise, though she was far more invested in deepening the contact between them than continuing their conversation. Shang Tsung happily indulged her, teasing at the seam of her plush lips until he could sweep his tongue into her welcoming mouth.

His hands wandered from her hips, following the curve of her waist to dip beneath the edges of her top. A pleased hum rose between them when she felt his palms caress her stomach and ribs, her skin satin soft and warm. The graze of teeth against his bottom lip sent a bolt of heat straight through his body.

He rolled his hips, made a low noise of approval when she rocked down to meet him and sparked delicious friction through their clothes. One of his hands darted down to the part of her skirt, sneaking beneath to grip the swell of her ass and guide her into a smooth grind that left her breaking the kiss to gasp.

He occupied his mouth with exploring the unmarked column of her throat, correcting that oversight with pleasure. She moaned softly when he sucked a red-purple rosette beneath her ear, her hands untangling from his hair to wander his chest and arms. He nipped at the junction between her neck and shoulder, and her nails sank into his pectorals, leaving crescents in their wake. He bit down again, harder, and those sharp little claws dragged across skin, catching the edge of his nipple and sending pleasure straight to his straining cock.

His grip tightened, perhaps too hard, but her moan was all pleasure as he fit their bodies together tighter, the growing bulge in his pants pressing up against her just right. Her thighs flexed and trembled more with each movement, her breath hitching. She nearly lost their rhythm altogether when his hand edged around to the front of her panties, thumb circling her clit through the single thin layer, her gasping voice pitching a note higher. Her fingers tugged gently at the waistband of his pants, needy and insistent.

“I want to feel you,” she murmured.

He dragged himself away from the necklace of pretty marks he was leaving to take in her rosy features and red-bitten, swollen lips. Her hair was falling around her in almost artful disarray, spilling across her shoulders and brushing her flushed cheeks in curling strands. Shang Tsung wanted to tangle his hands in it, draw her head back and claim her panting mouth— but first… 

“As the lady wishes,” he answered.

Of course, acquiescing was easier said than done when Nix seemed disinclined to detach herself or sit still. It took several deep, distracting kisses and quick hands to get himself free of his shirt and vest. The minute both articles hit the floor, her lips and tongue and hands found his abdomen, tracing the ridges of his muscles with dedicated fascination.

He would have huffed in amusement, had her pretty little mouth not been so dangerously low and straining his self-control. Catching her jaw, he gently guided her face up again. It seemed he needed to change his strategy. He curled an arm around her waist and shoulders each, then twisted, laying her down along the length of the couch beneath him.

She blinked up at him through hazy eyes, mouth parted in surprise. Smirking, he pressed his thumb to her bottom lip and practically purred when her tongue darted out to taste.

“There we are,” he crooned. “Much better.”

Like this, he could pin her wrists down with one hand while he tugged the laces of her top loose with the other. Trying to do the same with his pants was somewhat more complicated, especially when she amused herself with setting her mouth to his skin again while he worked.

“It’s almost like you’re trying to make this difficult,” he remarked dryly.

He caught the flash of a rare smile that was swiftly followed by her teeth and tongue on his nipple. Redoubling his efforts as his cock strained almost painfully against cloth, he finally kicked himself free of the last of his garments and turned his attention to hers before she could try to hinder him further.

Despite unlacing her corset, she hadn’t done anything to actually remove it, and the loosened fabric teased at the reward hidden beneath. Luckily, her clothing was much simpler to undo, and— once he got her top off— preoccupying her became an easier task. She mewled and whined as he toyed with her breasts, licking and sucking and pinching her nipples while he unclipped the fastenings of her skirt.

It parted to either side, and Nix pounced on the opportunity to wrap her legs around his hips— the circlet around one thigh already skin-warm— and grind up against him. She’d soaked through her panties, her core slick and hot against him even through the sopping fabric, and Shang Tsung’s control frayed.

She startled at the sound of ripping lace. Her lovely violet eyes went wide as he dropped ruined scraps onto the floor with no remorse.

“I can replace them tenfold,” he told her breathless expression.

She pressed her hands to her face with a dismayed squeak, the most embarrassed he’d ever seen her, and finally let him unhook her legs from around his body. In the stillness that followed, he drank in the sight of her spread out beneath him, all soft curves and blushing, newly-marked skin. He’d seen her naked and wet every night for weeks, but it was something else entirely to have her bare thighs bracketing his, her abdomen quivering beneath his palms, her pink pussy dripping and on display. All for him. To touch, to pleasure.

“Lovely,” he breathed, dragging a finger up the length of her slit and pausing to apply gentle, steady pressure to her clit.

She yelped and squirmed, hands sliding from her face to grip at her own hair.

“Simply divine.”

In hardly any mood to procrastinate, he eased first one finger into her heat, and then— at her shaky encouragement— another. He moved carefully at first, stroking her twitching silken walls and drunk on the thought of how she’d feel around him. Her back arched when his mouth returned to her breasts, adding to her growing collection of hickeys and making her hips twitch down against his hand. High, desperate noises fell from her lips as he quickened his pace, scissoring her open to fit a third finger.

“Shang Tsung,” she whimpered, absolutely writhing now, “I need you inside me. Please.”

He groaned, unable to deny her anything when she had tears brimming in her eyes like that. His fingers made an obscene sound they slid out of her, slick shining down to his knuckles. She keened softly when he licked them clean, making sure she could see his tongue curling around each digit.

“Shang Tsung,  _ please _ .”

“Of course, kitten,” he soothed, tugging her down to rub the head of his cock against her folds, The leaking head nudged at her sensitive clit and caught at her entrance. “You ask for so little, after all— well, maybe not little.”

She was only just coherent enough to send him an unamused look at that comment, but even that was wiped away when he entered her. Her hands flew to his shoulders, gripping hard enough to draw blood as he pushed into her steadily, until his pelvis was flush against her ass and she was stuffed full of his cock. She felt even better than he’d imagined, hot and tight and so wet that it coated her thighs.

“Fuck,” she gasped, head tilted back against the cushions. “Please move, oh my god.”

Bracing himself on a hand next to her shoulder, he started up a fast, deep pace, unable to restrain himself to anything gentler. Not that Nix had any complaints, as she dragged her nails down his shoulder blades and rocked down to meet each thrust. He gripped her thigh and hitched her knee up by his hip, grunting when she wrapped the other around his waist.

The deeper angle made her cry out, eyes watery as she squeezed around him. He slammed into her harder, faster, the couch shaking with the force of it. The air between them was hot with panting breaths, loud with sex and each little squeal and scream that he fucked out of her.

It was too much all at once, and he’d been restraining himself for weeks while they’d spent nearly all their time together. He released his vice-grip on her thigh— noted with pride that there were already finger-shaped bruises forming— to rub fast circles against her clit. She jerked beneath him, breath hitching on a sob as tears slid down her cheeks. His thrusts turned shallow and rough, practically grinding against her g-spot, and with an absolutely filthy roll of his hips, she came apart with scream.

A handful of deep, hard thrusts was all it took to drag him to his own ecstasy with her walls pulsing around him, milking his cock. The world whited out around him, his skin hot and electric as he bit down on her shoulder with a groan. She shuddered and went lax, legs dropping from his waist as he pulled out of her.

Propping himself up, his lips curved at her blissed out expression, her skin glowing in post-orgasm euphoria. She reached up to brush his hair back from his face, and gave him a pleased, warm hum when he kissed her cheek and jaw in return.

“Let’s get a little dirtier before we clean up, hm?” he chuckled, scooping her up to take her to their bedroom.

***

Shang Tsung was no stranger to her capabilities. He had seen firsthand— perhaps the only living person with the privilege— a glimpse of the true extent of her power, back in that demolished city an entire dimension away.

Still, to witness it again, controlled and directed now, and yet no less swift and brutal…

“Magnificent,” he purred into her hair, “utterly magnificent.”

She exhaled, mild exasperation as she brushed rubble from her skirt. “You could have at least waited until I finished that chapter. I was at a good part.”

It was the closest she got to complaining, and it was undermined by the way she tilted her head to allow a kiss to her temple.

“My apologies, kitten,” he cooed, casting the pile of corpses in his ruined dungeon a satisfied look. “But catching you off guard was part of the exercise.”

Her eyes were glowing in that unsettling, charged way that drew him like a moth to flame, but the curve of her lips was fond.

“Did that count as an exercise?” she asked, genuinely curious. Of course it had been that easy for her.

“More of a test,” he allowed, chuckling, “not that it’s of any consequence. I’m quite pleased with the results.”

He turned on his heel and Nix fell into step with him, leaving the gore-splattered scene behind.

“I suppose this means we’ll be going to Outworld soon, then?” she mused.

Golden bands of jewelry glinted in the sunlight as they strolled back to the garden she’d been dragged away from in the first seconds of the scuffle. Not that there had been many seconds afterwards. There had been the start, and then there had been the end, with Nix waving rock dust out her face.

“Such a clever little thing,” he praised. “Yes, my presence has been missed in Shao Khan’s palace. It will be time for your debut.”

She hummed, folding herself into her previous seat while he retrieved her fallen book from sun-warmed stone. When he offered it to her, she took his wrist in one small hand and the novel in the other, then turned his palm upwards to press a kiss there.

“And no one will question my presence at your side?” she wondered, with too much faith in him to be skeptical.

He took the seat across from her and summoned a square box with purple ribbon— one she’d become quite familiar with. Curious as always, she removed the top to reveal whatever jewelry lay beneath. This time, an intricate gold circlet rested within.

Nix removed it carefully, examining the chain clasp at the back, then traced the solid curve of the semi-circle to the unmistakable icon carved front and center. Her thumb swept across the smoky jewel of the dragon’s eye, followed its body down to the ring that hung off the bottom edge.

“A collar?” she asked. He’d expected some sort of negative reaction— a protest, or doubts, or perhaps even reluctance. However, there was none of that in her gaze when she looked at him. At most, she seemed confused.

“There are creatures in this world that sorcerers may summon,” he explained. “Familiars who will do their bidding for a price.”

She made a noise of understanding. “We had stories like that in my world. People selling their souls to demons for money or success or whatever else.”

She returned to admiring the collar, forgoing the main design for the scrolled engravings and twisting patterns that surrounded it.

“Contracts formed between a sorcerer and familiar tend to be consummated by a physical symbol of the agreement,” he continued, “like collars.”

The corner of her mouth twitched up. “That’s not unlike our arrangement, no?”

“You are bound to my will by your own,” he corrected. “If you suddenly chose to make this island implode, I would be powerless to stop you. Familiars have no such luxury. They sacrifice their freedom in exchange for a steep price.”

He plucked the collar from her hands and undid the clasp in silent request. Without so much as a sigh, she gathered her hair away from her neck. He rounded to stand behind her, delighting in her little shiver as the cool metal touched bare skin. The clasp clicked into place and Shang Tsung leaned down to brand an open-mouthed kiss just above the collar.

“Quite unlike our arrangement,” he finished.

“I see,” she murmured, tilting her head back to peer at him upside-down as he straightened. “So this is meant to imply that I’m your familiar.”

“Yes. It will also explain my absence until now and conceal your true nature.”

She flicked at the ring, making it jingle in the quiet of the garden. “And I suppose your initials on the inside are a precaution?”

He smirked down at her, tracing his thumb over the delicate curve of her cheek. “If you like.”

She laughed, soft and far too short, but bright nonetheless. Satisfied with himself, he dipped down to steal a proper kiss, then returned to the seat he’d vacated.

“I still don’t see why I can’t just kill everyone who opposes you,” she mused. “It would be much faster that way.”

“In time,” he assured, “for now, trust the direction I set us in.”

She hummed. “I trust in you, Shang Tsung.”

***

There were rumors that Shao Khan’s favorite sorcerer had procured himself a pretty new pet. A wild little thing with flashing eyes and a wicked tongue, as loyal to her master as her master was possessive. Some whispers claimed that she was nothing more than a jeweled ornament, hanging off Shang Tsung’s arm. Others cautioned that the ornate collar adorning her neck was more than a showy accessory, but the symbol of a much darker nature.

The persona took a bit of time to perfect. A simpering, bratty companion with more bark than bite, who thought she was protected by her lover’s power and status. In front of others, her powers were confined to the illusion of a moderately accomplished psychic empath, whispering the thoughts and feelings of others in her master’s ear. Difficult and inconvenient, but overall non-threatening to the powerful players that Shang Tsung conspired against.

Nix hardly minded the little act, especially when she got to shed the polished mask for something closer to her true nature. Even in their final moments, Shang Tsung’s enemies didn’t know the truth of the entity that ended them. Only Kronika, in the last fleeting seconds of her immortal life, recognized her for what she was— an exception to the timeline because she was never meant to exist in it.

But in the end, Nix still preferred above all else, a patch of sunlight and Shang Tsung’s company, and was finally able to find peace from her past.


End file.
